


Like A Moth

by Energy_Purple



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguments, Dean Needs A Hug, Drunk Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Dean Ambrose, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Break Up, Protective Roman Reigns, SHIELD, Seth is an asshole, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Energy_Purple/pseuds/Energy_Purple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, come on then. I know you’re dying to say it…”</p>
<p>And the sad thing was, Roman really was tempted to say it, to come out with the “I told you so” he’d been holding back ever since Dean had admitted to him that he had been sneaking around with… with him.</p>
<p>Roman had always known that Dean had been flirting with danger, but that was the problem with Dean. Even despite the betrayal that had ripped them to pieces, Dean had always been helplessly drawn like a moth to the flame.</p>
<p>And now, he’d been well and truly burned for the final time.</p>
<p>********************************************************************<br/>In which Seth is a cheating scumbag, Dean is extremely angry and emotional when he's drunk, and Roman finds himself having to pick up the pieces...</p>
<p>But what happens the morning after, when Dean and Roman both realise that lines have been crossed and feelings have been revealed?</p>
<p>Implied Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins<br/>Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Moth

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a rewrite of a fic that I wrote and published on FF.net all the way back in 2011. Reading over it for the first time in years, I realised just how perfectly it fitted onto our favourite SHIELD brothers, so I couldn't resist giving it an update!
> 
> Just a heads-up, the dub-con tag is there because of the alcohol involved. Once the characters involved realise what happened/the situation, they are more than consenting!
> 
> Please feel free to leave any and all comments! I really do love reading them and see what people think! Also, if anyone has any prompts or ideas they'd like to see, feel free to let me know!!!

It was getting late.

As the last dregs of beer were drained from the bottom of the bottle, Dean could just about hear the sound of clock in the lobby striking midnight over the fuzziness that was settling thickly around his head. Normally, this was when his good friends 'dignity' and 'common sense' would tell him that he should call it a day. Wrestling with a hangover was way too much of a bitch to handle, and after almost faceplanting on the edge of the apron during tapings the last time he'd gotten himself completely shitfaced with Kevin and Finn, he'd began to listen to his brain more often than usual.

Tonight though, he'd booted those irritating little bastards in their imaginary faces and proceeded to drown them under an ocean full of booze.

Slamming the empty bottle on the bar next to the fast growing pile surrounding him, he caught sight of the bar tender; he attempted to signal for another round, but his co-ordination had clearly joined him in his drinking, and he only succeeded in waving his arms about him in some kind of vague gesture that clearly had no link to asking for another beer and more with making him look like a twat.

"Don't you think you've had enough to drink, sir?"

Dean scowled, rolling his eyes openly at the disapproving look on the bar tenders face, and he briefly debated throwing one of the empty beer bottles at his stupid, fat head. He wasn't a fucking child, and he didn't appreciate being treated like one by some asshole. He'd lost track of the amount of alcohol he'd ingested, and he couldn't be asked to call upon basic maths to add up the bottles, choosing instead to remain blissfully unaware until morning when he was guaranteed to have a very hefty tab waiting for him to beg his way out of, but he knew when enough was enough.

It certainly wasn't then, and it most definitely wouldn't be for a while. Not after the day he'd had anyway.

"You're not paid to fucking think, you're paid to shut the hell up and get me fucking pissed. Now get me another fucking bottle before I give you something to really complain about."

Dean really didn't give a flying fuck about his choice of words; the carefully crafted mask that he prided himself on keeping had shattered under the drink, and he didn't want to feel the rawness of the emotion beneath it, so his first defence was anger. Alcohol fed that anger, and although he knew he'd probably regret it in the morning, at that moment he didn't give a shit about what he had to do to keep that fire burning.

The bar tender opened his mouth as if to say something, but shut it again, raising his eyebrows in a condescending fashion. This only served to aggravate Dean even more than before. As the bar tender reached under the bar to grab another bottle, Dean practically snatched it from his hand, and he glared indignantly at the guy, mumbling 'stupid cunt' under his breath slightly louder than necessary as the bar tender walked off to deal with the other people scattered around.

Tonight wasn't about having to deal with anyone else. It wasn't even about having a good time. Tonight was purely for the sake of getting smashed enough to erase the past few hours. He didn't give a shit what anyone else thought. After the tapings, he'd simply packed his bag and fucked off to the bar alone. He didn't really want to be alone, he didn't even really like being alone, it was something he normally avoided at all costs. Tonight though, he just wanted to drink himself into oblivion without someone else hanging off his arm. He'd had a few texts from Roman, demanding to know where the fuck he'd gone and why the hell Dean couldn't be bothered to wait for him to sort himself out before disappearing, but he'd turned his phone off and thrown it in his rucksack with the rest of his gear. Roman could go fuck himself, he thought petulantly, and so could everyone else.

Another beer was downed within minutes. The agitation rolling off of him in waves was growing, and the fucktard of a bar tender certainly wasn't helping it, but he'd be damned if he was going to stop. Three more empty bottles quickly joined the pile on the bar, and he briefly paused to let the dizziness in his head calm down slightly, his throat and his liver screaming under the heavy abuse. The room was spinning pretty damn fast now, but it still wasn't enough. Beer became Vodka shots, the haze getting heavier and heavier in his mind as his sour mood grew more and more. Tightening his hold on the glass in his hand, he leaned forward to grab at the bar tenders arm as he walked past him, gripping the man's wrist hard.

"Hey asshole, where the fuck is my drink?" Dean's acidic words were starting to slur and his eyes were glassed over more than normal. The bar tender prised off Dean's fingers calmly, obviously use to the actions of drunken idiots.

"Sir, I'm refusing to serve you anymore this evening. Your behaviour is becoming unacceptable, and if you continue, I'll be forced to call hotel security to escort you back to your room."

As the bar tender went to walk off, Dean saw red, and the last of his control broke as his pent up anger boiled over. Picking up a bottle cap from beside him, he flung it hard at the back of the man's head.

"Don't you dare turn your fucking back on me when I'm fucking talking to you, motherfucker," Dean seethed, "Get your fucking cunt ass back here and get me another damn drink, or I'm gonna smash you in your stupid fucking face."

As Dean continued to launch a torrent of abuse at the unfortunately placed bar tender, he caught sight of two large uniformed men approaching the bar in his peripheral vision. He wasn't at all surprised when he was unceremoniously pulled from his stool, and he lashed out angrily when the security attempted to remove him, his feet flailing randomly in the hope he'd kick one of them square in the balls. After a couple of moments of fierce struggling, he could feel a hand grab his ankle to restrain him better as, with much effort, he was carried out awkwardly into the lobby, hurling a constant stream of obscenities at anybody and everybody who was unlucky enough to be in the near vicinity.

He didn't give a fuck how much of a scene he was making, or even about how childish he must of looked being dragged out of the bar, he was just angry that his plans to get completely shitfaced had been thwarted by some stupid bastard. He didn't give a shit about the consequences; he'd just had enough of today, and by the looks of things, his night wasn't going to end up any better.

* * *

 

Roman hadn't even taken two steps into the hotel when the sound of Dean's heavily intoxicated tantrum hit his ears, and as the bar doors swung open with a barrage of slurred insults, he physically and mentally face palmed at the scene before him. He couldn't help but admit that an extremely large part of him was maliciously amused at the sight of Dean being dragged – well, half carried – through the hotel lobby, literally kicking and screaming in his obviously inebriated state. Dean had already done enough tonight to annoy the fuck out of him, and when he stormed out of the locker room during tapings without any thoughts of waiting for Roman, it had pretty much been the final straw. It had pissed him off something chronic, and he'd spent the better part of a good couple of hours trying to hunt him down so that he could let Dean know it.

But then he'd found out.

He'd only assumed it to be the typical idle gossip that seemed to form some aspect of practically every conversation amongst the guys in the locker room, and usually he deemed that sort of nonsense beneath him; well, that was unless he was the one who'd started it.

However, it was only when he saw the stupid slut and one of the naïve youngsters from NXT with his own two eyes that he'd realised what had obviously happened, and that what he'd dismissed as a mere joke wasn't even remotely close to that at all.

Whilst he was still angry as fuck at his best friend, and whilst he still intended to let him damn well know about it, he'd become concerned.

Dean wasn't one to show any form of emotion, and he most certainly wasn't one to wallow pathetically in self-pity; Dean had always been one of the first guys to rip a hole in anyone who acted like a pussy because of something. That mask of Dean's was damn near fucking impenetrable, even to him, but he knew that it had unwillingly well and truly cracked tonight.

Whenever that happened, Dean either got very drunk, or very angry.

When he'd heard from Sami that Dean had driven back to the hotel in a majorly foul mood, he knew almost instinctively where Dean would end up, and the sight that greeted him after he'd walked the short distance from the arena had confirmed his suspicions.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he rolled his eyes at Dean's sheer stupidity as he continued to fight furiously against security, although even he had to admit that a small part of him was impressed with the creative genius of many of Dean's grossly garbled slurs. As Dean grew more bad-tempered and unsurprisingly aggressive, he realised that it had probably just about reached the time when he should step in and protect his bastard best friend from something worse than just a hangover to look forward to in the morning. Shaking his head in a weary sort of fashion, he approached the struggling guards, his previous hostility with Dean's actions temporarily being shoved on the backburner in favour of saving Dean's ass for what felt like was approaching the millionth time in his life.

"Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on?"

The security guards regarded Roman's presence with something close to gratitude. Dean, however, looked less than impressed as Roman stared down at his jerking body, telling him in no uncertain terms to fuck right off before he got his teeth knocked down his throat. Roman clenched his jaw tight to prevent himself from saying something he'd regret later as Dean continued to make an idiot of himself, instead turning his attention to the guard at Dean's legs who looked to be rapidly losing his patience with the drunken twat.

"Guys, I can take him from here. He just needs to get his bitch ass some sleep, then I'll make sure he learns to behave himself in fucking future."

Dean swore indignantly as he was dropped very unceremoniously to the floor by Roman's feet, and Roman had trouble restraining him as he swiped out viciously at the rapidly retreating guards, his arms wrapped tight around Dean’s waist. The volume and vulgarity of Dean’s slurs only continued to increase as he kicked his heel back hard into Roman's leg, angrily trying to remove himself from Roman's grip, and Roman could feel his own animosity come flying back as he hauled Dean’s drunken form across the lobby towards the elevator. He figured that the faster he got Dean back to their room, the less likely Roman was going to be to lose his notoriously short temper and beat Dean senseless for his stupidity.

As the lift doors slid open, Roman pushed Dean in with barely contained malice. At that precise second in time, he almost couldn't give a shit about the ungrateful fucker’s situation, and when Dean lunged forward spitefully, Roman grabbed his wrist, using his own momentum to pin him up against the wall of the elevator. Twisting Dean’s arm behind his body, Roman pressed his elbow hard into the base of Dean’s back, blocking out all the incensed insults his friend was screaming drunkenly at him as he dug his chin firmly into Dean’s shoulder, using his weight advantage to try and hold Dean still as he continued to wriggle about childishly.

"What the blue fuck do you think you're playing at, you stupid cunt?" Roman snarled, his unnaturally seething voice actually making Dean wince slightly as he stopped fighting for a brief moment. "Are you actually trying to fucking get yourself fired? Do you honestly fucking think that this is going to make things any fucking better?"

"Fuck you asshole, I never fucking asked for your help or your fucking opinion! Now get your fucking hands off me or I'm going to break your fucking face!" Dean shouted back just as venomously as he renewed his fierce struggle for freedom, but he quickly stopped again when Roman pulled his arm further up his back, making him hiss.

"If it fucking wasn't for me, you'd be up fucking shit creek right now, so shut your Goddamn fucking mouth and stop making an asshole of yourself!"

"Make me," Dean spat out viciously, but his words ended in a muffled gasp as his face was pressed hard against the elevator wall, Roman twisting his arm far enough up his body that he was actually in danger of dislocating it if he continued to struggle.

Roman was usually pretty laid back regarding whatever shit Dean decided to get himself into - hell, half the time, he was right beside him, either encouraging him or running the fuck away when their plans were found out. However, this wasn't the time for pleasantries or jokes.

Roman knew that he was probably only exacerbating the growth in Dean’s bitchiness, but he really didn't give much of a shit; he'd taken the brunt of Dean’s anger before, and he knew it would happen again, so he wasn't scared of throwing it right back at Dean when he fucking warranted it. It was tough love really, and if he had to treat him like a child to get him to calm the fuck down, then he was prepared to do it. It was just part and parcel of Dean’s personality, his past history, and it was something that Roman was more than willing to deal with.

Roman could hear Dean’s slow, deliberate breaths, and he steeled himself for the next round of fighting that Dean was inevitably planning for. Just when it got to the point that Roman's body tensed in anticipation of a struggle, however, the elevator came to a stop. As the doors slid open, Roman released his grip on Dean’s arm to let him pass. He wasn't at all surprised at the glassy glare he received, and when the slurred stream of abuse began to hit his ears again as Dean shoved him aggressively with his good arm, he rolled his eyes before forcefully pushing Dean in return, although with more restraint than he'd been showing him for the past few minutes.

As Dean stumbled backwards into the hallway, Roman stepped out in front of him, grabbing his wrist before he fell straight onto his ass, and pulling Dean into him. He didn't really like the idea of Dean potentially beating his face in, but the half way concerned part of him didn't like the idea of leaving him on the floor, no matter how tempting it was to him.

Despite the fact that Dean deserved to pay for being an absolute cunt all day, Roman knew the reason why that was. And yeah, whilst he was still pissed off with him, and yes, he didn't really think the selfish bastard should get away with it, the simple fact of the matter was that Dean was obviously hurting. The last time Roman had seen Dean this drunk and angry was after _that_ night. He could tell just by the rawness exuding from Dean right now that his iron mask had completely shattered, and that what had been exposed underneath was something that Dean almost desperately didn't want to deal with.

Wrapping a muscular forearm awkwardly around Dean’s waist, Roman could feel Dean continue to fight against him; however, with only one arm willing to co-operate with him, and his futile exertions beginning to take its toll on his energy, it was a lot less spirited than previously, and Roman knew that Dean had reached the point of letting his downright petulant sulking do the speaking for him anyway. Roman didn't mind the new found quiet actually, because he would've gone insane from Dean’s insensitively loud and drunken screeching if he'd continued any longer, and he revelled in the opportunity to actually hear himself think for once.

Dragging Dean down the corridor towards their room, the sheer volume of alcohol that Dean had consumed at the bar was quite noticeably starting to get to him as he leaned more and more into Roman's body in an attempt to counteract his piss-poor balance. Dean had obviously thought that giving up his fruitless fighting, whilst somewhat of an ego deflator, was the slightly better situation than sleeping on the floor in Sami’s room like the last time he'd pissed Roman off, Roman had concluded.

Whilst that usually would've been more than enough permission for Roman to indulge in some well-deserved mocking, he decided with great reluctance that his teasing would have to slide; Dean was already going to have enough to deal with once Roman had screamed and shouted at him for being an asshole and then tried to help him like he supposed a good friend would do, so his merciless ribbing could wait, even if just for a little while longer.

Roman was actually beginning to stagger himself from the added weight pushing against his ribs, and he was grateful when the duo finally reached their room, watching with spiteful amusement as Dean slumped against the door frame precariously whilst he took the key card from his back pocket, before unlocking the door and swinging it wide open.

Blindly fumbling for the switch just inside the door, the room suddenly flooded with bright light as Roman took a step forwards before turning his head to stare questioningly at Dean. Upon realising that the stupid prat was in actually in danger of falling asleep against the door frame, Roman rolled his eyes in annoyance before wrapping his hand tightly around Dean’s bicep and yanking him forward firmly. Dean tripped clumsily as he was dragged into their room, glaring at Roman indignantly before defiantly tearing his arm out of Roman's grip and making towards the bed himself.

He was well aware of how much he'd unwillingly had to rely on Roman - hell, he knew that at some point, he was going to have to suck it up and apologise to Roman as thanks for getting him out of some serious explaining - and it had irritated it him more than it really should have. It was probably just the booze, but he was determined to show Roman that he didn't need his damn help as much as Roman thought he did. He knew that was a complete load of bullshit, but his currently raging drunk pride wasn't very accepting of the idea that he had to be dependent on someone for even a second.

Roman watched with a slight frown as Dean tossed himself vaguely towards his bed, landing with an unmanly huff as he buried his face deep into the pillow, and sensing the gradual change in Dean’s mood now that he was in the security of Roman's company, Roman closed the door before starting towards the bathroom. After a few crashes of bottles and some rather colourful and pointed language to compliment it, Roman re-emerged, the box of Aspirin in his hand being placed on the cabinet beside him.

Other than wrapping his arms around his head awkwardly, presumably to block out the garish brightness of the light streaming down from above him, Dean hadn't moved at all, and he hadn't made much noise either other than some half-hearted slurring that had been swallowed by the pillow beneath him. Roman briefly considered shutting out the main light, but then his resolve hardened. As far as he was concerned, he wasn't going to do shit for Dean’s benefit until he'd given him some answers. Until that point, Dean could suffer.

"So, what the fuck was all of that shit for then, huh?"

Dean made absolutely no attempt at moving to face Roman, but Roman could hear the forced anger in his considerably quietened voice. "Now is not the time, stupid fuckhead."

Roman's eyes widened as he folded his arms across his chest, having to resist the urge to laugh sarcastically as a slightly disbelieving smirk creased his lips. " _I'm_  the stupid fuckhead? Pretty rich coming from the bastard who just got thrown out on their ass for pitching a bitch fit in the bar."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I mean it though jackass," Roman shot back as he took a step towards the bed, "You're gonna be in a shitload of hell tomorrow. I bet management are gonna have a fucking field day when they hear about this. Did you plan on getting suspended or even fucking fired anytime soon?"

Unrolling his arms from his head, Dean turned to face Roman. Despite the fact that he was visibly fighting to maintain his furious facade, the hollow resignation in his eyes was clear as day. His defenses were crashing down around him, and the spark of fear and realisation igniting in his glassy stare that Roman knew Dean way too well to miss was actually painful to witness.

It was like watching his shell crack to unveil an agonisingly vulnerable centre, one that both men knew was being revealed very unwillingly. Dean knew he was powerless to stop it happening, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He suddenly felt like he was 13 again, his life falling apart at the seams despite his best efforts to grasp and stitch everything back together again.

This time, however, there was something about Roman's presence that took away the edge of confusion and uncertainty. Dean knew that the mocking would be a given once he managed to pick himself up and move on with his life, but still.

Roman was the only one he had ever trusted to reveal this side of himself to. Not Callihan. Not Regal.

And most certainly _not…_

As quickly as he made eye contact, Dean dropped it again, his voice sounding strangely empty and bitter.

"It's not like anyone would care, so it doesn't matter."

Roman was taken aback. That certainly wasn't something he had expected Dean to come out with, and he was genuinely left speechless for a few moments. It wasn't something that happened very often, but when it did, it always surprised him. Hell, it hadn't been the first time that Dean had left him lost for words, but there was something about this time that made it feel even more uncomfortable than normal for him, as though it made his concern increase.

His brows drawing downwards, he found himself making his way over towards Dean, perching himself on the edge of the bed. His hand instinctively came to rest on Dean’s shoulder, and when he caught Dean’s gaze once more, the weakness that had been so deeply exposed for some reason made his heart ache to the point where he thought he'd stop breathing.

"Dean-"

"Fuck off."

"Dean, listen to me," Roman huffed out a sigh. He didn't like making himself feel like some sort of girl, and he'd decided that it would be another thing to add to his ever growing list of things Dean had done to him against his will, but he was pretty sure Dean would understand his reasoning once he'd suitably recovered in the morning. "I know what happened."

Dean visibly tensed, his shoulder stiffening beneath Roman's hand, and Roman sucked in a breath as Dean turned his face back down avoidantly, his silence speaking louder than his words ever could. So Dean obviously didn't want to talk about it, Roman had concluded, and although Roman was very sorely tempted to leave it that way, he couldn't stand the fact that he might be possibly leaving Dean to wallow rather pathetically.

As much as it would usually entertain him under different circumstances, for some reason he couldn't bring himself to find any amusement in Dean’s suffering for once. It just didn't feel right. Roman was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed the hitched sigh Dean released, his shoulders trembling.

“So, come on then. I know you’re dying to say it…”

And the sad thing was, Roman really was tempted to say it, to come out with the “ _I told you so_ ” he’d been holding back ever since Dean had admitted to him that he had been sneaking around with… with _him_.

At first, it had been a major bone of contention between them, a source of never-ending fights and arguments; he’d always known that Dean had been flirting with danger, but that was the problem with Dean. Even despite the betrayal that had ripped them to pieces, Dean had always been helplessly drawn like a moth to the flame.

And now, he’d been well and truly burned for the final time.

"Look dude, I’m not going to say it, just because you’ve always known how I felt about it. I mean, after everything that he did to _you_ – to _us_ – I knew that there was no way a scumbag like him would change. But, as I kept telling you bro, this was your choice, and I have always respected your decisions, even when they’ve been stupid ass decisions.”

Dean snorted angrily, refusing to even look at Roman.

"Yeah, well, I’m just full of mistakes, aren’t I?" Dean forced out rather bitterly. “There was me fucking thinking that I could make him change, that he didn’t really mean to destroy everything good in my life, but that’s just me, isn’t it? Fucking ‘crazy old Ambrose’, so fucking desperate for it to not be true that he can’t see when he’s being used and abused like a bitch whilst _he_ has his fucking pick of the locker room. That _he_ can have anyone he wants on their fucking knees moaning like a bitch in heat, fucking telling them that _they_ are the only one he wants."

Roman went to speak, to say anything, but he couldn’t make a sound as he felt a lump in his throat. When Roman had seen _him_ backstage with one of the NXT youngsters he couldn’t even name, their bodies a fierce tangle of arms and lips and electricity as they devoured each other in one of the side corridors, he'd assumed that all he'd seen had been all that Dean had seen as well.

He certainly hadn't thought that there was the possibility of Dean catching sight of something more.

For the second time that night, he felt that odd pang in his chest, and when he stared back down at Dean, it only increased in intensity. Even as the anger came back into Dean’s face, it was so flimsy and fragile that Roman knew it was capable of shattering at absolutely any moment, and when that happened, everything that Dean was desperately trying to force back behind his continuously breaking mask would fall out whether he wanted it to or not.

Roman's hand slowly moved from Dean’s shoulder to rest on the curve of his neck, and he could feel the steady beat of Dean’s pulse beneath his fingertips as he let out a sigh, trying to mull his next words over carefully in his head.

“Dean, bro, come on. You can’t let something like this destroy you. You are better than this. You are better than _him_. We always agreed, back in the good old days, that he was a fucking snake, but hell, I think that even snakes are better than he is," Roman joked, trying to ease Dean’s tangible tension slightly.

When Dean didn't even crack a smile, Roman's concern only deepened further, and he furrowed his brows at Dean’s silence. It wasn't like either of them to be quiet; most of the time, it was people begging them to shut their mouths for even 5 measly minutes so they could get a break from whatever nonsense they were spewing. Silence was practically a foreign language to the two of them, even when they were asleep, and there was something about the lack of words that made Roman feel uneasy.

Very few things had ever hit Dean hard enough before that it rendered him speechless – the bitter irony that all of them were somehow entangled with their former brother - and Roman had to admit that it wasn't something he cared for much. He didn't like the idea that he might not have any answers for whatever Dean was going to say next.

As the quiet continued, for some reason Roman felt weirdly and helplessly compelled to let his fingers brush gently over Dean’s throat, and as his hand softly settled on the back of Dean’s head, he couldn't help but be confused by his sudden compulsion to display even the smallest level of affection for his friend. Yet again though, Roman couldn't help but notice the fact that Dean hadn't slapped his hand away either.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean let out a shaky sigh. "Maybe I don’t even deserve anything better than a scumbag; takes one to know one, y’know?"

His voice was weak and filled with a hollow sobriety that almost made it sound painful, and if it wasn't for the heavily slurred edge tinging his tone, it wouldn't have even been guessed that the owner of the words had been the same one who'd kicked up World War 3 with a bar tender less than half an hour before.

"Maybe all I’m destined to be in my life is some fucking worthless, naïve kid desperate for attention. I mean, for God's sake, he fucking killed me, he ripped me into little pieces, and yet I still couldn’t fucking stop myself from running to him whenever he beckoned. Even now, I’m so fucking angry, it fucking hurts to breathe, I don’t even want to try, yet all he would need to do is fucking snap his fingers, and would I go crawling back like his personal fucking whore? Probably!"

Dean’s voice had become more and more hysterical as Roman watched him spin further and further out of control, and Roman knew full well that the mask Dean kept such iron clad control over had finally been reduced to utter tatters. The strain in his words as he trailed off had been just way too overwhelmingly obvious to Roman, and the agonised vulnerability it brought with it almost made it feel like he'd been punched in the gut.

The floodgates had been lifted, and all of Dean’s desperate attempts to keep the water from drowning him had been worthless. Roman felt like he'd been dragged along under the torrent with him, and he could feel every one of the emotions radiating off of Dean; the annoyance and anger for letting his mask slip, the fear and confusion he'd been trying to avoid at everything that had been revealed against his permission. The pain. The depression. The feelings of utter worthlessness that had haunted Dean every step of his life.

The pressure of Roman's fingers against Dean’s skull deepened slightly, and when Roman caught Dean’s glassy stare once more, the sharp twinge in his chest returned, bringing a faint knot in his stomach with it as he basically watched Dean fall to pieces. Roman wasn't sure how much of it could be attributed to the sheer volume of beer and Vodka Dean had downed earlier in the evening, but he knew that he didn't like not knowing what to say when Dean was like this.

Despite his reputation and past, Dean’s defences never broke very often.

Roman could clearly remember the last time they had; it had been a few days after that scumbag had ripped the rug out from beneath their feet, had left Dean on the brink of self-destruction, when a particularly biting and personal promo on Smackdown had resulted in a wrecked locker room and Dean on his knees sobbing in the midst of the carnage.

That just made the rare times that his defences came tumbling down intensely uncomfortable and difficult to deal with.

"Dean, please, none of this is your fault. I mean, yeah, alright, I’ll say it: _I told you so_. I told you that he’d be nothing but trouble, I told you that it was probably going to end in absolute disaster, but that doesn’t mean it’s all on you. You’re not the one shacking up with a load of naïve rookies, are you?"

"Not appreciated right now."

"Sorry dude," Roman smiled wryly, his voice softening considerably as he felt Dean slowly relax beneath his touch. As Dean’s arm snaked out from underneath his head, his fingers unconsciously glided across Roman's thigh before his hand came to rest just in front of his face on the pillow, and Roman found that he actually had to swallow slightly before he could continue his train of thought. "But I'm serious though. You are not a scumbag. You are not Seth Rollins’ personal whore. You’re a good person, Dean. You are my brother, my family, and the next time I see that bastard, I’m going to break his jaw."

Roman inwardly grimaced as he stumbled over what he was trying to say. He wasn't really the kind to be all cheesy and shit, especially with Dean; his direct and brutal wit wasn't naturally able to bend to sensitive girly shit, and even though him and God weren't really the best of friends, he was praying that Dean wouldn't use it as blackmail for the rest of their lives.

Another uneasy silence fell over the room, and Roman could see that Dean was fighting to try and maintain what little shreds of composure he had left as he let out a deep huff of breath. Roman had to admit that the idea of slapping Dean upside the head for even talking like he was before telling him to snap the fuck out of it was becoming a slightly appealing route, but for some reason it wasn't the path he was debating on taking.

The thought had only briefly popped into his head, but Roman wasn't one to over-analyse shit, and although he wasn't entirely sure how Dean would react to any form of physical contact or friendly affection at this moment in time, he'd decided he'd rather risk getting a smack in the face than having to listen to Dean talk more bullshit about himself.

Twisting his body further so that he was almost facing Dean, Roman gave one last soft squeeze to the back of Dean’s head before moving his hand to underneath Dean’s shoulder. Dean looked vaguely suspicious and somewhat put out when Roman awkwardly attempted to pull him into an upright position, his body unhelpfully going limp. Dean groaned out in protest when the bright light flooded his vision again, and the dizziness swimming around his brain didn't seem to appreciate whatever Roman was trying to do.

"What are you doing?" There was no heat behind Dean’s words, only a tired and hollowed emptiness that made Roman's chest feel tight again.

Once he'd succeeded in sitting Dean up, albeit with some muttered profanity about the stupid fucker's lack of co-operation, Roman could feel himself falter in his plan for just a few seconds, before he forced himself to continue, and he wrapped his arms around Dean in a hug. Dean stiffened up, and almost instantly began trying to wriggle himself away from Roman, but this just made Roman tighten his grip around Dean’s waist.

"Seriously dude, it was either this or fucking gagging you, so stop being difficult." Roman half joked, and he failed miserably to stifle a laugh at the embarrassment that flushed Dean’s reddened face before loosening his arms just enough to allow Dean to move. After a couple of minutes of complete tension on Dean’s part, Roman could feel Dean visibly relax into him as he began to accept the contact, and Roman smiled when he felt Dean’s arms creep around him tentatively to return the display of affection. Both men's arms tightening around each other as they deepened the physical exchange, Roman let his chin rest on Dean’s shoulder, his hot breath bathing Dean’s throat in warmth.

Roman's hand travelled up Dean’s spine to rest on the back of his neck, and he suddenly became aware of how Dean’s pulse began to speed up beneath his fingers in response to his touch. Roman abruptly realised that he had gotten an awful lot closer than he'd first intended, but found for some reason that he couldn't bear to break away from Dean, not when Dean melted into him further, his head leaning against Roman's.

Roman knew that Dean’s almost desperate need for affection was something that Dean had always ensured he'd kept padlocked behind that carefully crafted mask of his, but with his defences shattered, it was like Dean was craving the physical comfort, and Roman knew he was completely unable to deny Dean anything that he truly wanted at that moment.

Roman had always found for some reason that he could never deny Dean what he wanted.

The longer Roman's arms stayed firmly wrapped around Dean’s willing body, the more he could feel Dean’s heart beat faster against his own chest, and for a split second, he couldn't help himself as he twisted his head barely enough to place a kiss on the curve of Dean neck.

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat, and Roman instantly realised the line he'd possibly crossed, but rather than yank himself away like he normally would have in that kind of situation, he felt secure enough to stay where he was for a little while more. He squeezed his arm around Dean’s waist, and he knew he was in the clear when Dean returned the gesture without hesitation, his body warm and inviting as he moulded into Roman even deeper.

When Dean let out a soft, wistful sigh, an almost sad smile curling his previously stoic face, Roman was content that he'd finally calmed down Dean’s shit enough that he'd hopefully be able to sleep at least for a few hours before dealing with the bitch of a hangover he'd inevitably have waiting for him in the morning, so began to unwrap himself from Dean.

As Roman lifted his head from Dean’s shoulder, he caught Dean’s gaze, and the unparalleled depth and strength of the unguarded feelings that could be so easily read in his usually caged eyes made his stomach twist into that queasy knot again.

Roman barely missed a beat though, and went to draw his arm back, but as he pulled it away, Dean’s hand clutched his wrist almost convulsively, making him stop. Roman could practically feel the shiver that ran through Dean’s fingers, and when Roman looked back up at Dean, he was taken aback by the cocktail of emotions warring across Dean’s face. There was something about the conflicted confusion and helplessness in Dean’s expression that concerned Roman, but just as Roman started to question it, Dean darted forward, connecting their lips in a frantic, needy kiss.

Roman froze in dumbfounded shock, unable to process what was happening. He could feel his brain starting to kick into overdrive, and his natural instincts were vehemently demanding that Roman push Dean away as hard as possible before knocking the fucker out for even thinking about pulling this sort of shit, but for some reason he'd found himself unable to comply, so he simply sat there.

He was distantly aware of the hand on his wrist tightening its grip, but he couldn't focus on it, the thick waves of desperate emotion crashing from Dean as his lips pressed firmly against Roman's succeeding in stealing all of Roman's attention. It was just so raw, so powerful and intense, that Roman became immediately worried about how bad Dean actually was.

He could feel the tremors running through Dean’s fingers, almost like he was fearful of something, and Roman abruptly realised that he had to make Dean stop, but for some reason he found himself unable to bear the idea. However, less than a few moments later, the painfully tight hold around Roman's wrist was shakily loosened as Dean broke the kiss, slowly inching back from Roman's face. Blinking a couple of times to refocus, Roman let out a shallow breath, his eyes wide as he stared straight at Dean.

The silence was deafening, but the unspoken words that passed between them were as loud as anything either could have said. Dean’s fingers were still wrapped around Roman's wrist, and Roman watched as Dean struggled to force himself to stare back, noticeably swallowing the lump in his throat as he did so. The second their eyes met though, Roman found he was unable to do anything but repeat Dean’s actions, his entire mouth going dry. Dean’s normally shielded gaze was now an open book, and Roman could almost feel his heart clench painfully in his chest at what was swimming in his glassy eyes.

Beneath the layers of panic and fear at what he had done, Roman could see the misery and despair that was reflected all too clearly, but it was the confusion and neediness that drew his attention most of all.

Hidden deep amongst his worry, Roman got the distinctly visible impression that Dean was trying to stop himself from physically reaching out to Roman once more, and the look of pure hopelessness that flashed in his hazy eyes was heart breaking. All of a sudden, the knot in Roman's gut was overwhelming, twisting itself so damn tight that Roman almost felt like he was going to be sick. With each passing second, he could see Dean withdraw further into himself, and he looked so devastatingly weak and vulnerable that Roman couldn't stand it anymore. He felt like he couldn't breathe, just seeing the weight of the things Dean was practically begging permission for but knew he couldn't ask for in Dean’s darkened eyes made his heart pound in his chest, and almost instantly, he could no longer deny the urge.

Reaching forward, he let his hand cup the back of Dean’s neck in a reassuring sort of way, his other hand resting gently on Dean’s thigh. He closed the gap between them slowly, allowing Dean the opportunity to back away if he suddenly changed his mind about what he wanted, but when Dean didn't, Roman took a deep breath to compose his growing trepidation before touching his lips softly against Dean’s.

His fingertips brushing his skin, Roman could feel Dean’s pulse skip a beat in response, and he couldn't help but smile against Dean’s mouth when Dean let his hand tentatively trail up Roman's arm and neck before clasping the side of his cheek, returning the kiss with just as much tenderness as Roman was giving him. Roman let his hand run up the inside of Dean’s thigh before grasping his hip through his jeans, and when Dean sighed almost blissfully into the affection, Roman carefully twisted both of their bodies around on the bed, following Dean as he coaxed him encouragingly to lay on his back so that he didn't have to break contact for even a second.

As the moments passed between them, and their gradually boldening exploration of each other continued, Roman could hear that voice in his mind again. It was telling him that he shouldn't be doing this, that he was taking advantage of an obviously less than capable and emotionally defenceless Dean, and that it would only result in complete disaster in the morning.

But as Dean’s tongue probed at his lips, his thighs opening slightly to draw one of Roman's legs between them as his hands continued to run over Roman's throat and shoulders, Roman found himself being pulled further from his irritating thoughts.

Dean’s tongue sweeping into his mouth languorously, Roman found he could barely give a fuck about what might happen in the morning, only focusing on giving Dean the comfort and affection that he obviously wanted and craved.

After all, Roman could never deny Dean anything he wanted.

* * *

 

The merciless throbbing that pounded through Dean’s head when he attempted to open his eyes the next morning was painful enough to actually make him give a brief, yet deadly serious thought to the notion of never having another drink in his life, despite immediately knowing how much of a bullshit idea that was.

The sunlight streaming in through the windows was sickeningly bright, and Dean groaned as he buried his head in the pillow as deep as he could without physically suffocating himself. His throat burned like hell, but he was genuinely quite surprised about the distinct lack of vomit he could taste in his mouth; maybe he wasn't totally fucked up, he figured warily, although the crashing in his skull was beginning to convince him otherwise.

Trying to shift around the bed slightly, Dean was almost in too much of a hangover induced haze to even realise there was another body curled up around him, and it wasn't until he felt uneven breaths brushing the back of his neck that he began to pay the blindest bit of attention to the position that he was in.

An arm was wrapped firmly around his waist, his bare back bathed in heat as it was pressed tightly to the warm, sweat-slicked muscle of someone else's naked chest beside him. Legs were tangled with his own, one of them completely twined from thigh to ankle with his sleeping companions, and he could occasionally feel himself being drawn closer to whoever was next to him as their grip increased. A hand was splayed across his stomach, the fingertips tracing softly down the rivulets and dips in his abdomen as it unconsciously stroked up and down his skin in a lazy, soothing sort of way.

Despite his growing confusion, Dean found himself naturally leaning back into the touch.

After the past few months where the only physical contact afforded to him was a rough fuck against a shower wall, or the mockery of affection Seth gave him when using and abusing him, he'd forgotten quite how nice it was to have someone so close to him. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd sorely missed this kind of intimate contact, so he sank back into the body with a sigh as he let his eyes close for a moment, trying to stop his head from spinning quite so violently as he tried to fall back asleep.

Instantly though, his eyes snapped back open when the person behind him moved against him. There was something hard stirring insistently against the top of the curve of his ass. Something hard and very undoubtedly male. Now that he was a little bit more awake than he had been before, Dean also realised just how thick and muscular the body behind him was. How caramel the arms holding him were…

Lifting his head out of the pillows, Dean forced himself to open his eyes in spite of his body readily protesting against the action. After blinking a few times to clear the spots from his heavily bloodshot vision, he twisted his head just far enough to so that he could look behind him, and he could barely contain his shock at the sight which greeted him.

Roman's mouth was slightly ajar, but the roguish yet innocent smile tugging at his lips as his shallow breaths continued to hit Dean’s neck was more than obvious as he slept peacefully, his arm tightening around Dean’s waist. Roman’s face was partially obscured by his long, black hair, and Dean couldn’t help the whine of lust that fell from his lips before it was pushed aside in favour of his growing apprehension.

Dean could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of Roman' chest against his bare back, and as he turned further, Dean could just about make out what looked to be shiny spots dotted across Roman's flesh, and what was unmistakably several vibrant bites and bruises along the length of Roman's throat and collarbone. Dean let his gaze roam down Roman's abdomen, before settling on his groin and the erection that was twitching against Dean ass, sticky drops of cum leaking from the head and smearing across the curve of his lower back.

Dean didn't know what the fuck to think.

This was never a scenario he had ever pictured as even having a remote chance of occurring, and although he couldn't recollect a single damn thing of the night before, as he stared down the length of his body, the overwhelming evidence splattered across his own ribs and belly made him quickly realise what had obviously gone down.

It wasn't so much the idea that he'd either fucked or been fucked by his best friend that was the biggest problem for him to wrap his head around though, but just the fact that he'd been so pissed out of his skull that he couldn't remember any of it. To his rapidly increasing fear, the only fragment he could pull from the throbbing haze in his head was kissing Roman, and as the image burned into bright focus, the dumbfounded and almost worryingly blank look he could picture on Roman's face was enough to make his already queasy stomach knot up.

Just the sheer fact that he couldn't recall anything else after that point was enough to deepen his previously complex concern, and the possibility that he could've forced Roman, or even Roman forced him, into something that the other didn't want made his blood run cold. Dean couldn't reconcile himself to the idea that he might have potentially thrown his best friend and the best years of his life away for something he couldn't fucking remember.

"Fuck," Dean breathed out in almost panicked frustration, shutting his eyes as he buried his face back into the pillow beneath his head.

Even trying to work out his thoughts was making his head throb mercilessly, and as the contents of his stomach roiled around, he had to hold his breath for a second to make sure he didn't have to flee to the toilet.

As the moment of near vomit passed over him, he huffed out a deep groan, and he willed the suddenly violent pulsating in his brain to stop; it didn't of course, and he was almost quite thankful that Roman was still asleep. Roman had been less than impressed when Dean had blasted his mobile in his ear at 6am in the morning the last time he got incredibly drunk, and it was through sheer luck that Dean was able to escape without a phone forcibly rammed down his throat; he'd always been on his guard since then whenever he got pissed, because he didn't put it past Roman to return the gesture and then some. Roman had always been a vindictive bastard in that respect.

Roman's body shifted behind him, the arm around Dean’s waist tightening further as his hand continued to stroke softly across his abdomen and ribs, and as the sound of Roman's unconscious mumblings began to bathe Dean’s ear and throat in heat, Dean let out a wistful sigh, a sad smile curling his lips.

Normally, the random crap that Roman tended to spew in his sleep provided Dean with an endless source of amusement and blackmail, and he couldn't help but admit to himself that there had always been something quite inordinately calming about listening to Roman's voice - not that he'd ever dare to tell Roman of course; admittance of something that girly would be something Roman would hold over him without restraint until he fucking snapped and murdered him for it.

This morning, however, Roman's nonsensical rubbish only served to make his gut knot up painfully, and as his eyes caught sight of the clothes scattered around the room - although, even he had to do somewhat of a double take at what looked like his jeans wrapped over the TV - the weak smile slipped from his face, fading into a frown before disappearing completely as the possible ramifications of what had happened began to hit him further.

Dean became so fully absorbed in trying to unravel all the questions and fragmented images that whizzed around in his head that he almost literally jumped out of his skin when the alarm clock went off full blast in his ear, his brain feeling like it had exploded in his skull. The pounding migraine and nausea came back just as suddenly, and he physically had to resist the urge to batter the fucking thing to death as he buried his face back in the bed with a groan.

He was just about reaching the point of lobbing it out of the window before throwing the world's biggest bitch fit when he could feel Roman stir groggily from his practically comatose state beside him. The hand stroking Dean’s abdomen smacked about randomly against the covers, trying to reach the damned thing, and Dean could barely contain a laugh as he smiled briefly when he heard Roman's sleep slurred grumblings.

Roman was the text book definition of a lazy fucker when he wanted to be, and was most certainly not a morning person either as Dean had discovered over the years. Whenever there had been a demand for an early wake-up call, Dean usually tried to keep as much distance between himself and Roman as possible to prevent the beating that would definitely happen if Roman got his hands on him.

As soon as the smile appeared, it was gone, and Dean found himself almost frozen in apprehension. He had no idea what the fuck to do, and there was no fucking way he was ready to even entertain the idea of holding a conversation with Roman about what had happened. After a couple of seconds, he did the only thing he could think of to buy himself more time, and pretended to fall back asleep, almost suffocating himself amongst all the covers as he tried to keep his expression and breathing as calm and steady as possible.

He felt the bed dip behind him, and he was more than shocked and confused when he found himself having to fight to hold back a disappointed whine when the warmth of Roman's bare skin left his own, but he quickly reined it in as he felt Roman lean over the top of him, Roman's stomach pressed tightly against his ribs as the alarm was very forcibly switched off. Roman's hand had strayed down Dean’s side to rest instinctively on his partially exposed hip, and Dean found it incredibly difficult to maintain his composure at the softness of Roman's touch.

The new silence in the room was deafening, but Dean was extremely thankful for it; if he'd had to listen to any more noise at that precise second, he was convinced that his ears would have bled. Despite the sound of his own heart beat pulsing through his ears drowning out everything else, he could've sworn he heard what sounded distinctly like a heavy sigh from Roman, and then the faintest of mumblings to follow it. Dean couldn't make out any of the words Roman was obviously speaking to himself, but he focused all of his efforts on trying to maintain the mask of sleep - he figured if Roman had meant what he'd said for him, then Roman would've made damn sure that he'd either been awake or they'd been loud enough for him to hear them, regardless of whether he was asleep or not.

Roman's hand drifted from the curve of his hip up to his ribs as the bed dipped slightly further beneath his weight, and Dean found his breath involuntarily hitching in his throat as Roman's fingers brushed further up his chest to skim across his collarbone and neck; for a brief second, Roman paused, and Dean thought he'd been rumbled, but then the heat from behind him noticeably disappeared as Roman got off the bed.

As the dull thud of Roman's footsteps across the carpet quietened slightly, Dean barely cracked open an eye, and he watched silently as Roman picked his way through the heap of clothes on the floor, before pulling out his boxers and putting them on.

Dean could just about make out the slump in Roman's shoulders, and the way that Roman's hand would sporadically rub his lower back for a moment before falling back to his side, and he came to the conclusion of who was obviously on what end the night before. To his consternation, he was almost quite put out that he actually had Roman in his bed and couldn't remember what he'd done to him, but then Roman turned to face him, and Dean quickly shut his eyes again, finding it harder and harder to continue his feigning.

A couple of seconds later, he heard the bathroom door being shut rather carefully, and Dean found himself being pleasantly surprised by the politeness that Roman was apparently showing him; Roman, being the inconsiderate asshole he typically was, usually went out of his way to make as much noise as humanly possible, especially when everyone else was still trying to sleep. Roman prided himself on his ability to be the most irritating bastard he could be, Dean had discovered very early in their friendship, but Dean couldn't help but be slightly grateful for Roman's sudden change of heart when his brain was still feeling like shit in his skull, so he decided not to question it.

Dean could make out the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, and he allowed himself to relax slightly; Roman's obsessive habits meant that he'd spend hours preening in front of the mirror until someone had to beat down the door and physically remove him, so Dean figured that he'd get at least a short while to try and work out exactly how to ask Roman about what had happened.

Failing that, Dean could very easily pretend that this was all just a dream, and hope that he'd soon wake up to Roman lounging on his own bed, eating a bowl of cereal and watching some shitty morning news show he'd hunted out on the TV. Of course, he knew that was some pretty desperate and wishful thinking on his part, so he tried not to cling to that idea as much as he wanted to.

Turning onto his back for a brief moment, Dean stretched his arms above his head as he yawned, wincing at the series of pops that resonated through his shoulder and elbow. The disgustingly bright sunlight streaming through the window was hitting him square in the eyes, and Dean covered his face with his hands as he groaned weakly, trying to stave off the sudden wave of nausea washing over him.

To be perfectly honest, he wasn't entirely sure whether his throbbing headache was due to his own drunken stupidity, or at having to face the prospect of possibly one of the most awkwardly difficult conversations he could imagine, but his chosen course of action either way was to roll back over onto his side and bury his head firmly in the pillow with a growl. He knew for a fact which one of those two scenarios was the most likely cause of his current physical state, but he seemed to like the fleeting thought that he could pin the blame for his own problems on somebody else for a little while.

A hell of a lot sooner than he'd been expected, Dean could hear the bathroom handle clicking, and he threw the covers back over himself almost childishly, schooling his features back into, what he hoped, was a half believable mask of sleep. Dean hadn't even heard the shower stop, and he very briefly chastised himself for his lack of attention, but then the door opened, and he stopped mentally berating him so that he could focus on trying to avoid Roman as much as possible.

It didn't work.

The bed dipped again by Dean’s stomach, and Dean couldn't help but mentally curse when he involuntarily jumped at the sound of a glass and the slight rattle of a box of Aspirin being dropped onto the wooden cabinet by his head, and he knew the game was up when he could hear Roman's heavily sleep-tinged voice.

"Seriously Dean, you fake sleep worse than a kid does. I know you’re awake, you dolt."

The awkwardly forced chuckle that accompanied Roman's words made Dean realise almost instantly that Roman was in the same position as him regarding any real prospect of a typical conversation for them. Roman always had a habit of making himself feel more relaxed by reverting to his unbearably idiotic and chilled out nature, and it usually served its purpose of deflecting attention from the matter at hand.

Dean had a feeling that this sure-fire method of control wasn't really playing ball this time though; if anything, it just seemed to highlight the issue that Roman was noticeably attempting to avoid as much as Dean himself was.

Dean bit down on his lip nervously as he lifted his head out of pillow, before twisting onto his back. The ceiling had never really looked so fascinating as it did at that precise moment in time, and although Dean’s brain was screaming at him to stop being such a pussy, Dean couldn't quite bring himself to look Roman in the eye.

He could feel Roman shift about restlessly beside him, and Dean instinctively knew that the wall he was temporarily shoving up between them to allow himself to think of what to say was obviously making Roman less than comfortable about the situation.

He could tell by the way that Roman's shoulders tensed up slightly, and how his fingers kept fidgeting with the covers, that Roman thought he was either about to be on the receiving end of an incredibly violent ass-kicking, or was about to see one of his dearest friendships fizzle into smoke.

As horribly uneasy as Dean felt about the whole thing, he figured that he at least owed it to Roman to not let his growing tension turn him into some uncooperative and stubborn bastard against him; after all, he conceded, Roman was the only one of the two of them who could probably actually remember what happened the night before.

Letting out a sigh, Dean reluctantly pulled his gaze from the ceiling and propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes staying drawn to the bed covers for a brief moment as he sat himself up to lean back against the headboard.

The thick blanket had pooled around his bare waist, and the shiny dots and now visible crescent shape indents around his abdomen and hips were now more than easy to see to both of them, even though they weren't really as fresh and deep looking as the bite marks and bruises that decorated Roman's throat and collarbone. In his peripheral vision, Dean could see Roman absentmindedly rub his neck, but the sudden black haze that descended forced him to shut his eyes, and he groaned weakly as he covered his face with his hands, the throbbing headache making its annoyingly irritating presence felt as he unconsciously held his breath to stop the bile he could feel gurgling in his stomach.

He almost flinched in surprise when Roman prodded his thigh gently a few times, and he peered between the gaps in his fingers questioningly to see what the fuck he wanted. One of Roman's hand went up to scratch the back of his head, and he gestured towards the cabinet vaguely with the other with a shrug before he faced Dean again, very reticently forcing himself to make eye contact.

"I kinda figured you'd probably need something. I mean, to be perfectly honest, after the amount of alcohol you downed, I'm more surprised that you're not either puking your guts up or fucking comatose still or something, but I guess that a killer headache probably feels worse than death right now anyways."

Roman chuckled quietly, and Dean couldn't help but give the briefest of smiles as he shook his head slightly in silent agreement.

He wasn't quite up to the idea of opening his mouth right now out of fear that what would come out wouldn't be words but something a hell of a lot more sickly, but he also wasn't sure he'd be able to maintain his composure if he tried to joke about, so decided not to say anything. Judging, however, by the faint half smile Roman returned, he figured that Roman was finally starting to let his guard down and feel a bit more comfortable than Dean had made him barely minutes beforehand, and he murmured a 'thanks' under his breath before popping out a couple of Aspirin and swallowing them down as best he could without making them come shooting back up again.

The slight clink of the glass being very cautiously placed back on the cabinet seemed to only emphasise the uneasy silence that filled the room, but neither man was willing to break it. The idea of trying to even start a reasonably civil conversation about the night before seemed tough enough, and the abject fear that one wrong word could see their friendship blow up hard and fast in their faces only made them more worried.

Dean’s eyes briefly caught Roman's again, but his nerves and growing tension made him feel so painfully awkward that he couldn't bear to hold Roman's gaze for more than a couple of seconds before it dropped to the bed once more.

He could feel that barrier being shoved up between them again, and the way that Roman shrunk back in an almost defensive - and slightly scared, although Dean knew for a damn fact that Roman would rather beat the shit out of him before admitting to such, despite knowing how well Dean could read him - manner made him realise that the longer the quiet continued, the more the potential for anger and hostility could grow, and considering how fucked up Dean felt at that precise moment in time, he knew very easily how unattractive a prospect that would be.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean heard Roman sigh deeply, his hand automatically going back up to scratch the back of his head. It was a classic sign that Roman was usually majorly uncomfortable with whatever was going down, and it also gave him the perfect excuse not to maintain eye contact, Dean thought to himself.

Roman's fingers continued to drum lightly against the bed, and Dean became more than freaked out as his sudden compulsion to reach out and grab his hand to make him stop; he instantly squashed that thought, his head throbbing relentlessly to the point that he almost missed Roman start talking.

"Look Dean, about last night," Roman tried to make his voice sound upbeat and confident, and Dean didn't want to tell him that he was failing miserably as Roman's previous faint smile fell off his face. For some reason, just the choice of words and the way that Roman said them actually made Dean feel quite involuntarily sick as his stomach knotted up painfully tight. "I shouldn’t have let things happen the way that they did-"

Dean narrowed his eyes at Roman suspiciously, and he supposed the images now running through his imagination weren't helping things, but he felt the briefest flare of anger run up his spine in a defensive sort of way. "What the hell do you mean by that, huh?"

Almost immediately, Dean could see Roman flinch back at the harshness that had unwillingly worked its way into his tone, and he had to force himself to take a deep breath; after all, the last thing Dean wanted was to get into one fuck of an argument with Roman and potentially see his strongest friendship - or his life - flash before his eyes whilst in this state.

Swallowing his growing apprehension and fear, he built up the courage to look Roman in the eye, and the reflecting emotions that could so easily be spotted made it almost impossible for him to force himself to continue.

"Roman, look I love you like a bro dude, and I just want you to be straight up with me here, because trust me, I know when you're fucking lying, and the last thing I want is for us to beating each others faces in right now." Dean could feel himself falter, and the slightly softened gaze Roman gave him made it so much harder for him to maintain his composure, but he pressed on regardless. "What exactly happened last night?"

And there it was.

The awkward silence that fell over them was almost stifling, and Dean watched with baited breath as Roman began to squirm uncomfortably underneath the scrutiny.

To be honest, Dean wasn't entirely sure whether or not he wanted to know what happened; a very big chunk of him was more than happy to remain blissfully unaware and let them both try to forget about it as much as possible. After all, alcohol had a very interesting way of screwing with his head, and he was pretty damn sure that Roman would laugh it all off as one of those acts of drunken stupidity and weakness once he'd ribbed him to death about it. Their friendship wouldn't suffer, and they'd go back to being as normal as normal was for them; well, at least, that was Dean’s logic, but even now he could instinctively read the waves that Roman was giving off, and he mentally kicked himself for even trying to fool himself into thinking that this could be easily swept under the carpet.

However though, an even larger part of him was desperately wanting to know.

The more his eyes roamed Roman's skin and the bites and bruises that covered it, fragments would flash through his mind that he wasn't sure whether they were his imagination or memories.

As Roman cracked his knuckles absentmindedly, Dean could almost feel the ghost of Roman's fingers start to trail down his chest and abdomen, the slightly pained pleasure of Roman's nails digging hungrily into his hips and thighs. When he caught sight of Roman's tongue drawing across his bottom lip, Dean felt a shudder wrack his body as his cock began to twitch, and Dean found himself having to swallow down a moan at the vividly real image of those lips wrapped around the head of his cock, Roman's mouth so hot and moist as he sank down his length over and over.

As quickly as the memory came, it disappeared again, and Dean came crashing back to reality with a jerk when Roman cleared his throat with a nervous chuckle.

"Well, what you'd kind of expect to happen - although, at one point, you totally turned vampire wannabe on me," Roman paused for a second, before crinkling his nose up rather childishly. "And you fucking fell asleep on me, and believe me, you're fucking heavy enough without being dead weight to boot. I swear at one point you was going to fucking crush me out of spite or something.”

Roman's hand rubbed his teeth-marked throat lightly to almost emphasise his words, as well as to try and break the uneasiness that was beginning to build, but the look on Dean’s face highlighted the fact that Dean wasn't in the mood for Roman's humour, and Dean could sense Roman's growing apprehension as he forced himself to continue.

"We made out, and things ended up going from there really. I sucked you off, you blew me, then you fucked me through the mattress," Roman mumbled, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt at nonchalance, but he failed miserably as he broke eye contact with Dean and shrunk back slightly, the tension now engulfing both of them becoming suffocating.

By this point, Dean was caught between the urge to piss himself laughing at how unbelievable Roman was being, or kick off and throw a full scale freak out that would put a toddler to shame.

He definitely knew which one he preferred, but at that moment, he found himself being unable to do anything else but stare at Roman in dumbfounded and somewhat horrified disbelief, but he couldn't even rationalise what the fuck he was actually freaked out about; the fact that he'd gotten so damn pissed that he'd sucked and fucked his best friend without a shit for the consequences that would seriously bite him in the ass?

Or the fact that the longer his gaze stayed frozen on Roman's every move - on every ripple and flex of his hand, on the way that the light coming through the window shone and cast shadows across his abdomen, on the beads of water that dripped from his still damp hair and glided teasingly down his throat and chest before being absorbed by the towel hung low around his hips - he found himself beginning to desperately wish that he could remember having Roman beneath him, completely helpless and moaning his name in the heights of passion?

The images chasing themselves through Dean’s mind were so vivid that Dean found he almost couldn't breathe. His mouth went completely dry when he felt Roman's fingers rest on his knee, and the look of confusion on Roman's face made his pulse begin to pick up speed.

Dean had always known that Roman was one attractive motherfucker - hell, every god damn person they'd worked with somewhere along the way had noticed; denying that Roman was hot was like hanging a neon sign above your head that said you either utterly blind, or painfully straight - but he'd never thought, even when he was totally shitfaced, that he'd end up fucking him, let alone sit there and be envisioning ways that he could try and tempt Roman back into a similar position in the future.

The knot in Dean’s stomach came back with a vengeance, but this time it had nothing to do with alcohol, and as Roman poked lightly at his arm, his conflicted concern deepening, it became so intense that it physically hurt.

With a sudden burst of movement, Dean pushed himself off the headboard and swung his legs round so that he could sit on the edge of the bed. He was entirely focused on the action of locking himself in the bathroom and not coming out until Roman either left, or he'd been forced to break the door down; the urge to reach out and pin Roman to the bed, to kiss and touch him and bring to life the fragments of memories that continued to play behind his eyes was becoming quite a strong one, and he quickly decided that removing himself from Roman's presence was by far the best form of damage control.

As he went to stand up, however, Roman's hand shot out and grasped his wrist almost painfully tight, and Dean went tense, unable to move even an inch as his felt the heat involuntarily crawl up his skin.

Roman stood up behind Dean, still gripping Dean’s wrist; the waves of heat bathing Dean’s back and the steady breaths that brushed against his neck made Dean’s pulse almost skip a beat, and Dean found himself having to fight the overwhelming desire to lean back against Roman's chest. Dean tried to take a step forward once more, but Roman was still refusing to let go of him, and for some reason, Dean could feel another flare of anger shoot up his spine.

It wasn't so much fierceness at Roman, more at his disbelief of what had happened, but at that precise second in time, Dean’s real fear of giving in to his temptations and doing something he could end up majorly regretting meant that as much as his brain and body protested the choice, Dean needed to get Roman as far away from him as possible.

If acting like a petulant fuckhead was what it would take to give him a little bit of breathing room and allow him to stop questioning the sudden complications in his best friendship, then he didn't mind doing it.

Taking a deep breath, Dean turned around to face Roman, before ripping his wrist out of Roman's grasp and giving him enough of a shove that he stumbled backwards, the bed being the only thing that stopped Roman from falling square on his ass. The only half mocking glare that Roman gave him in return made Dean’s heart clench rather painfully, but he pressed on with his retreat to the bathroom.

Fingers bit hard into his shoulder, and with a forceful yank that threatened to pull Dean onto the floor, Dean was spun to face an obviously less than happy Roman.

"Dude, what the _fuck_ was that for?"

Roman gritted out as calmly as he could, but Dean knew him well enough to see the dark spark in his eyes that suggested Roman was playing around with a good reason for not having smacked him around the face by now.

Dean couldn't stand the idea of Roman being vengeful and angry at him at the best of times. They both prided themselves on their ability not to let their friendship be wrecked by a nasty argument or two, but even so, they usually threw together a joint effort to prevent themselves reaching that point all together. They both depended on each other too much to ever allow the idea of them being less than close friends to cross their minds; but in Dean’s grand scheme of things, he knew that even if it was just for a few hours, he needed Roman to fuck off and bug the shit out of somebody else.

"Gee, what the fuck do you  _think_ that was for, asshole?" Dean spat back sarcastically; for a brief second, the conflicted look on Roman's face almost made him falter in his plans, but he hardened his resolve as he pressed on.

"What about for being a manipulative bastard, huh? What about how you fucking exploited our friendship for an easy lay? Oh, and of course, the total obvious of you fucking taking advantage of-"

Dean couldn't even finish his sentence before Roman's face drained of all confusion and filled with almost blistering despise for him, and Dean found himself pushed so hard against the wall that he thought he'd end up going through it.

Dean’s throbbing migraine returned, and as the air rushed out of his lungs, his stomach twisted so damn painfully that for a perilous moment, Dean was actually convinced he was going to be violently sick. In the time it took Dean to blink and feebly attempt to regain some notion of balance, Roman had closed the gap between them, his arm pressed across the front of Dean’s chest and his other hand wrapped way too tight around Dean’s wrist, pinning him hard against the wall.

Dean found his breath involuntarily hitching in his throat as Roman leaned forward threateningly, his forehead almost touching Dean’s as he continued to glare venomously at him. Just the look in Roman's eyes made Dean feel seriously sick with fear, and Dean came to the very sudden realisation that his efforts to get Roman to go the fuck away had well and truly crossed the line.

"Now you listen the fuck to me, you fucking bastard," Roman snarled so viciously that Dean instinctively froze, "What makes you think that I fucking took advantage of you, huh asshole? I never did anything that you fucking didn't ask for, so why don't you get your fucking head out of your ass and stop acting like I'm the fucking bastard in all of this! I didn't exploit shit! I was only doing what you fucking wanted me to do, so don't you fucking  _dare_  start spewing shit about being all high and mighty and innocent in this, because you fucking reached out for me first!"

Roman's voice was so thick with bile that Dean had to resist the natural urge to sink back against the wall as far as humanly possible, but the gleam in his eyes had changed ever so slightly. Dean could read Roman easier than a book, and slightly dimmed spark was blindingly obvious to Dean.

It didn't hold anywhere near the amount of rage and anger that it had done mere seconds before, and for a brief second, Dean almost became thoroughly convinced that Roman was pleading with him.

Not that he'd ever admit it of course, he valued his physical well-being too much to say anything to Roman and risk the world's biggest beating, but he quickly pushed his thought to the backburner when Roman pushed himself even further forward, hot and heavy breaths brushing Dean’s face and neck.

Dean found any semblance of control flying out of the window at Roman being this damn close to him.

Dean’s pulse was now thudding uncontrollably in his ears, and he could feel his heart and gut knotting up again at the thick waves of heat hitting what felt like every inch of his skin. Roman's thigh was unconsciously threaded between Dean’s, and their lower bodies were so tightly pressed together that with every breath either man took, their hips and groins would create the briefest of friction against each other.

Dean couldn’t stop himself from squirming when he could feel his cock once again stir slightly at the teasing, if accidental, stimulation. It occurred suddenly to Dean that all he had to do was move his face less than a couple of inches and he could kiss Roman again, and he found himself having to swallow down his conflicted desire and helplessness as he tried to fight the urge as best as he could under the circumstances.

The silence in the room was absolutely suffocating, the only thing breaking it being the erratic breathing between them both. Dean was completely unable to tear his eyes away from Roman as he resisted his temptation to push himself as far into the wall and as far away from contact as he could, and he felt almost utterly helpless as he bit down on his lips nervously in a piss-poor attempt to calm down his racing heartbeat.

He never saw Roman's fingers releasing their grip on his wrist until they ran gently down his side and ribs, the muscles in his abdomen tightening in response to the touch as Roman's palm pressed into the indent of his hip, Roman's fingers just barely straying into the thigh and groin territory, and Dean watched as the gleam started to come back into Roman's eyes once more.

A smug, if somewhat knowing smirk curled Roman's lips, and Dean instinctively knew that Roman was planning something; that stupid, shit-eating expression of his usually signified that Roman was toying with the idea of some crap or another, and Dean found himself having to hold down a shudder that rippled up his spine. It wasn't helped by the underline anger that Dean could still feel rolling off Roman in thick waves from their confrontation.

By this point, Dean had had enough. The knot in his gut was becoming overwhelming, and his head was beginning to pound violently under the strain of all of the shit that had happened with Roman; he needed the clarity and reasoning that distance provided, and he fucking needed it now.

Waiting for a moment when he thought he had captured Roman off guard, Dean worked his arms between their bodies and feebly tried to shove Roman back to give him some space.

It didn't work though, and Roman's eyes narrowed in aggravation when Dean gave another push, his grip on Dean’s hip tightening as he gave Dean a shove in return, pinning him up against the wall even harder than before.

Leaning forward, Roman pressed his forehead almost menacingly against Dean’s as he glared at him again. Dean could feel his own anger starting to kick in, but as he tried to twist his head away from Roman's, Roman's other hand came up to grip the side of his jaw almost painfully, effectively securing him in place.

Dean's pulse began to race uncontrollably at the unreserved strength Roman was using against him, and as Roman shifted his leg closer, Dean could feel his cock continuing to twitch against Roman's thigh. Dean’s breathing hitched in his throat at the look in Roman's eyes; there was a blackened spark of rage that continued to shine, but there was the faint gleam that flashed across his stare that Dean could have sworn he recognised from his own experiences as being the pure and unadulterated hint of lust.

The lowest of growls that could be heard in Roman's breathing was making it impossible for Dean to concentrate on anything whatsoever except for the sight of Roman in front of him, and in that instant, the searing heat flooding through Dean’s body exploded.

Wrapping his hand around the back of Roman's neck, Dean yanked him forward, smashing their mouths together violently in a rough and almost hungrily desperate kiss. It barely took a split second before Roman was responding just as viciously, and Dean gasped against Roman's mouth when Roman's hand tightened bruisingly around his hip and Roman began to rut against him relentlessly.

Roman bit down hard on Dean’s bottom lip spitefully, and Dean found that Roman's anger only fuelled his own even more as he fought back into the kiss, his cock hardening insistently against Roman's groin. Roman continued to grip Dean’s jaw painfully, and less than a few moments later, Dean felt Roman's thumb press down on his chin, opening his lips just enough to allow Roman to forcefully shove his tongue into Dean’s mouth.

The naked aggression being created between them made Dean’s brain explode under the heat, and the feel of Roman's uncompromising muscle pinning him hard and helplessly to the wall was only making him more and more needy. As their tongues continued to swipe and duel for dominance, he could feel Roman's straining erection beginning to prod against his own groin, and it made his control shatter further as they continued to grind their hips together, the sound of their harshly panted breaths and swallowed moans and groans ringing out throughout the room.

The surge of arousal that ran through Dean’s blood was so intense that if it wasn't for Roman holding him up, he would've most likely to collapsed on the floor by now, and as he ran his hands down Roman's spine and began to grope Roman's ass hungrily through the towel still clinging to his hips, the way that Roman pushed against him further was suggesting that Roman was having the same problem staying on his feet.

Roman's hands greedily grasped at Dean’s hips and thighs as Dean forced Roman's lower body into closer contact, and both of them became aware of their previous anger and hostility with each other beginning to dissipate and give way to their aching arousal and need. With each second that passed, the brutally punishing ferocity they were unleashing on each other was becoming more and more passionate, and soon, their rage with one another had been all but forgotten as their shared lust continued to spiral out of control.

In that moment, all of Dean’s reservations and fear about what had happened flew out of the window as he revelled in the feel of Roman's skin pressed against his own, and the intensity of the deliciously carnal pleasures swimming in his brain as Roman's tongue delved powerfully between his lips was enough to make him feel like he was going to pass out.

The sound of pounding at the door made both men jump, and they tore their mouths away from each other as they turned to stare in the general direction of the offending noise. Their uneven, heavy breathing echoed around the room, and with every hard gulp for air, their torsos rubbed against each other’s, the most sinfully tempting friction being made as their hips and groins continued to grind together. To their annoyance, the sharp knocks came back, and the nasally voice that accompanied them made Dean’s head flop back against the wall behind him as he tensed up.

"Dean, open up, I know you’re in there! We need to talk!"

Roman growled out a curse before turning to look back at Dean, and the almost pained look in Dean’s eyes was enough to make his heart clench up like it did the night before. Roman's fingers splayed across Dean’s abdomen, and they began to tease and stroke softly down the dips and rivulets in the smooth muscle; at the same time, Roman let his mouth trail down to the curve of Dean’s neck, and he began to kiss and bite up the length of Dean’s throat.

Roman could feel Dean’s pulse throb against his lips, and he briefly smiled when Dean instinctively twisted his head enough to give Roman more access to the sensitive skin, although it faded once more when the knocks got even louder and more obnoxious as Seth began to shout through the door.

“Come on Dean, it wasn’t what it looked like!”

“We both know that you can’t stay mad at me forever!”

“Just let me in, and I can make it up to you, baby. You know that no-one loves you like I do…”

Roman brushed his mouth up Dean’s jaw, kissing the spot just behind Dean’s ear. Roman could see the cocktail of emotions warring through Dean’s features, the flicker of doubt and uncertainty scrawled across his face.

"Don't let him get to you," the breathy whisper bathing Dean’s skin was thick with heat and desire, and Roman felt the shiver run through Dean’s body.

“Remember, you’re so much better than him.”

“You deserve more than him.”

“You can’t let him control your life anymore.”

Roman’s words were becoming more and more desperate as pulled his head back just enough to let him stare into Dean’s conflicted eyes. It was terrifying in some ways; he knew that Dean understood what he was saying, but Roman also knew it had to be hard to resist the siren song Seth had woven around him for years.

Seth had manipulated Dean from the moment he’d met him, preying on Dean’s insecurities, wrapping around his little finger. Even after Seth had so brutally betrayed them both, Dean had struggled to stay away; despite how much Dean hated Seth, he needed him just as much.

Roman just desperately hoped that he could prove to Dean just how much Roman needed him too.

“Dean, please,” Roman whispered softly, and the sheen of tears that coated Dean’s eyes before he let them fall shut was enough to make Roman’s heart clench. “Let me in… Let me give you what you deserve.”

Time stood still.

The sounds of Seth’s pleadings and fake promises faded out. Dean’s eyes cracked open, and Roman stood in silence, rubbing his thumb in gentle patterns against Dean’s bare abdomen as he watched the emotions play across the younger man’s face.

After what seemed like forever, a faint and tentative smile began to form on Dean's flushed face.

Roman couldn't help but return the infectious affection in kind before he bent his head back down to resume laving attention on Dean’s neck, and he smirked against Dean’s skin when Dean’s breath visibly hitched in his throat.

The pounding on the door got more and more frantic until it suddenly stopped, and both of them could vividly imagine Seth stomping his feet petulantly like the spoilt brat he was.

"Fine! Be that way, you stupid bastard! You’re fucking nothing to me anyway!"

With one more kick against the door, the sound of Seth’s grumblings quietened as he stalked off down the hallway. Once they were confident that he'd fucked off, both of them huffed out a slight laugh in amusement. Roman placed a sharp bite in the curve of Dean’s throat, and Dean’s back arched slightly as he bit back the husky moan that threatened to be released.

After one last grazing of teeth against Dean’s skin, Roman lifted his head up to look at Dean once more, and he grinned at the flustered expression on Dean’s face as he reluctantly unwrapped himself from Dean and stepped back.

"Now come on, you lazy motherfucker. Get your ass in gear, we've gotta be at tapings in a couple of hours. And by the way, you seriously need a shower because you fucking reek like a dead alcoholic, and considering how much maintenance it takes for you to make yourself look even halfway as presentable to me, I'd get a fucking move on if I was you."

That trademark smile was on full display, and Dean rolled his eyes. Shaking his head slightly to regain all semblance of control and balance, he pushed himself off of the wall with muttered utterances about how much of an egotistical diva Roman was before he took a step towards the bathroom.

After a brief moments thought, a sly smile of his own plastered itself across his face, and he reached out towards Roman, before grabbing the edge of the towel that hung low around his groin. Giving it a tug, he pulled it away from Roman's waist, exposing Roman to his full view as he slung the towel over his shoulder.

Licking his lips in appreciation of the devastatingly handsome body in front of him, Dean’s eyes sparkled with a fleeting gleam of lusty desire as his gaze roamed Roman's muscled form hungrily, and as he made eye contact with Roman, he smiled deviously.

"Well, if you're gonna hog all the fucking towels like normal, then how am I supposed to get in the shower, fucktard?"

Both of them shared a smirk, and as Dean turned away to start towards the bathroom, he huffed out a contented sigh when he felt Roman's eyes boring into his back with matching fire that suggested he was half tempted to join him in the shower.

For some reason, Dean had a good feeling about today.


End file.
